


Outside the Box

by Terribly_Timid



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Kid Spencer Reid, Papa Rossi, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terribly_Timid/pseuds/Terribly_Timid
Summary: When David Rossi gets a call about his apparent claim to small boy in Vegas his first thought is that the social worker has the wrong number. His second thought is that Diana was more out of it than anyone knew. His third and the one that he holds to is this. He is not a parent, he does not want to be a parent, Spencer Reid deserves a parent.
Relationships: David Rossi & Spencer Reid, Jason Gideon & David Rossi, Jason Gideon & Spencer Reid, The BAU Team & David Rossi, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid
Comments: 50
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer I do not own criminal minds or Martian child (2007 movie) by which this work is inspired.

“Children are not a distraction from the important work. They are the important work.” 

-CS Lewis 

“You flew all the way out here. You had to know what was going to be asked of you.” The woman said voice in a soft whisper but tone biting. The kind of verbal tone normally only seen in new mothers berating husbands or other family members when they ran the risk of waking newborns. Seeing as this woman was pushing sixty and was dressed in a brightly colored woolen suit that had fallen out of style years ago. Complete with large hair and the most pigmented red lip he had seen this century David Rossi was surprised she was capable of such subtlety. 

“This didn’t seem like a conversation you have on the phone.” David offered back his tone equally as soft. They exchanged parting pleasantries and David exited the small Las Vegas house surrounded by misplaced children and crossed the two lane road for the black rental car he acquired a few hours prior. He allowed his body to slump forward for a moment. Reminding himself that this had been the right decision. That he had thought this decision through and that he had come to the right conclusion. He had a job that took him away from his home for days on end at the drop of a hat. A job where being shot at was more common that it has any right to be. A job where he went toe to toe with psychopaths, sociopaths, sadists, serial offenders, and other human versions of the monsters science fiction writers made so much money writing about. 

He had no business being in charge of anyone else’s wellbeing. Especially not the well-being of a ‘troubled’ boy. He could not help but wonder why Diana Reid, a woman he hadn’t seen or heard from in more than twenty years, had thought him willing or capable of taking in her son. 

Godparents are supposed to be fixtures in children’s lives. Asked by parents before or soon after birth so the child is raised with this non-familial uncle. He knew that he had been a godfather for Steven. Still was even though the boy was well into adulthood and wanted little to nothing to do with the monster hunters that permeated his formative years. He had gone to birthdays and other special events. Took him on his first hunting trip because for all the things Jason Gideon was a traditional hunter he was not. He had seen less severe bumps and bruises and helped guide his moral compass. But even in that he had been adment that Betty’s sister be the next of kin. He would be Uncle Dave but he could not, or more aptly would not, raise the boy. 

Godparents were not supposed to be strangers called at zero dark thirty by a social worker to take charge of a child they never met. 

A knock on the window had him startling for a moment a small girl with fire red pigtails stood on the other side of the car door situated firmly in the middle of the street. She pointed her finger down with a pinched expression that seemed to give severity to her non-verbal request. 

“Can I help you?” Dave asked eyebrows raised in question. 

“I know who you are?” The girl said as greeting which had Dave even more interested in what the exchange could be. 

“You do.” 

“Your the man that Mrs. Jacobs called about Spencer but you don’t want him.” The blunt tone that could only come from a child who didn’t fully understand the implications and the trauma the statement held caused David to flinch. 

He had gotten this far with his conviction by telling himself he was giving the boy his best shot. He wasn’t cut out to raise a child he wasn’t cut out to kiss boo boos or wake up early for sporting events. 

He wasn’t good at all that stuff anyways. 

He wasn’t a parent. 

He didn’t want to be a parent.

Spencer deserved a parent. 

“Who told you that?” He asked after swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“Spencer.” The name held the same blunt tone. Which made Rossi close his eyes and suck in a breath. 

“Jesus.” He breathed out. Of course the kid heard him. 

“Christianity is valid but other religions are just as relevant.” The girl recited, and Dave let out a hiccuping laugh at the growing absurdity of this conversation. 

“Do me a favor when you become president please don’t change.” The girl nodded and the conversation lulled. Dave looked around the front yard. Three preteen boys were playing with a basketball and hoop that had seen better days. A group of younger kids were drawing with chalk. One girl up near the house was skipping rope. It looked a lot like a school yard at recess. 

“You a friend of his. Or what?” He asked, returning his eyes to the girl next to his car. 

“No, he’s a weirdo.” The girl whispered quite loudly. “He doesn’t have any friends.” 

“He doesn’t. ” Dave repeated looking around once more trying to find the boy he had stubbornly not looked at a picture of before flying out here. That doesn’t mean he was flying blind though. He had been at the wedding and seen Diana and William, the man who despite getting a law degree always seemed to be hanging out around the arts building like a dog after a particularly juicy bone. 

He had grown up around Diana’s toe headed mop and chocolate brown eyes. He had given the shovel talk to William watching the man shake his brown hair and watching the man's own brown eyes go wide with shock at the mere thought of harming her. 

So their kid would be pale, hair would be somewhere between Diana’s blonde and William’s brown and no doubt he would be tall for his age. He looked around to try and fit this vague description with a kiddo he could see. He couldn’t. 

“Where is he hanging out?” He decided to ask.

“He is in the box. He doesn’t come out until night.” 

“And why is that?” The words came from his lips before he could stop them. 

“The sun. He hates the sun.” The girl said as if that was the only logical conclusion as to why anyone would spend all their time in a box. 

“Right” the little girl trotted toward the misshapen cardboard box in the corner the word fragile written on the front she leaned down to the handle and whispered something before trotting away to go jump rope. 

Dave took a deep breath before starting the car and pulling off the curb. Trying to scrub the memory of the boy in a box from his mind. 

He wasn’t a parent. 

He didn’t want to be a parent.

Spencer deserved a parent. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N thank you so much to everyone who read and enjoyed the first chapter of this story. Hopefully you also enjoy this chapter. There is no Spencer here but he should show up somewhere in the next two depending on pacing.

* * *

“One loyal friend is worth ten thousand relatives.” 

Euripides

* * *

“But I don't understand…” Emma mumbles shifting the cards in her hand, face as impassive as it was when they were ten years old, the old card table held two more patrons, and winnings consisted of Halloween candy instead of poker chips.

“Why did they call you in the first place?” She continues as Dave assesses his own hand. 

“I don’t know, doing their due diligence. Diana had put me down as Godfather and guardian in the will.” He said before pulling a card from the deck with a short nod. 

“Thought you hadn’t talked to her since…. _you know_.” Emma said gesturing to the space around her. Moving as if to conjure up memories of the tramua she wouldn’t speak into existence. Like memories would hurt less than words would. It didn’t, but after a quarter of a century lugging around this particular trauma with sick bastardizations of it constantly being played out any time he spoke to a parent about their dead child, he was able to shrug it off with a mostly impassive look of concentration. 

No one, but Jason, ever called him out on it so he was pretty sure that the impassive facade worked. 

“Oh, wow, you know what?” Emma said after she folded and grabbed the deck and began the familiar motions of shuffling. “I think it was really insensitive of Diana in the first place. I mean, it's only been twenty five years.” Emma huffed as she counted them both in. It sounded like a sick sort of joke, that after 25 years Dave, a man who hunted monsters for a living, wasn't able to deal with his own skeletons. 

But Emma did not have a cruel nature and of everyone he was able to fall on in his downward spiral she had been the kindest soul and softest place to lay his broken pieces while he struggled to jigsaw them back together with WD40. Gone was the once burning unrequited love he harbored in his youth. Now she was a best friend and an escape from the day to day he desperately needed. It was why he had called her immediately after hanging up with the Las Vegas POlice Department. Why he had asked her to join him here in Vegas so that he wasn’t alone in making preparations. The fear of facing this, the dregs of Diana’s life, alone had him offering to buy her last minute ticket and hotel room. 

She denied both but showed up anyways. Sitting on the steps of the hotel he chose for his stay with a coffee for him and a smile. 

And that right there is why 15 year old Dave had fallen so hard for Emma. 

“Don’t speak ill of the dead.” Rossi said taking a dreg for his cigar, which he needed after the afternoon he had. 

“Look Davy, mine are practically grown and to this day drive me nuts.” Emma said once again assessing her hand, swiping a bit of salt and pepper fringe from her cyan blue eyes and piercing him with her gaze “And their mine.” 

“Hey, it's not gonna happen. You're preaching

to the converted.” He said, placing his cards face down and throwing his hands in surrender. She scrutinized him for a good three minutes. Blue eyes boring into brown with such loving strength he wondered what Emma would be like as an interrogator. He wondered how many unsubs he met in cases would simply just fold under this 4’9 willowy woman’s gaze. It was a interesting thought placing his strong willed friend against the cruelty of the world. Funny due to the juxtaposition of power, having nothing to do with gender and everything to do with self presentation, but heart stopping when the thought of how much danger she would be in for that juxtaposition to exist. 

She broke the gaze after realizing he was not going to open up today and continued the rest of the game with a very different topic of conversation. Though truly this topic was no more light hearted then the rest. 

Diana needed to be laid to rest. And she had not left any final wishes for how she wished for that to happen. 

They discussed burial or cremation and tried to figure out which method they thought she would want and where she would want to be put to rest. But they were at least 25 years out from knowing her. And from what they now could determine about her life those 25 years were highly different from the nearly 30 in which they were so close they were each other's family.

They ended up with a plan about an hour before that night turned into the next morning. 

“Listen, I got to go call Danny before I let you take all my money, okay? That was a good decision, okay?” Emma said and for a moment David wondered if she meant the decision about Diana or about Spencer. He was given an answer when the small woman pulled him into a hug. Spencer. Because even more impressive than her icy gaze were her powers of knowing when David was struggling and knowing what he was about. 

She more than likely knew that Dave’s thoughts had been circling around the boy in the box from the time he pulled away from the curb. Trying to figure out the logistics of how a boy lived his life within four walls of cardboard and when if ever he got out of the box to complete the menial day to day tasks of life. Or maybe the girl was mistaken and the boy had just been playing a game. He had never been around a whole lot of kids but he was pretty sure that three were when kids' imaginations were still running a bit wild. Maybe the boy thought the box was a vehicle of some kind taking him through time or space. 

A hand squeezed his shoulder bringing his thoughts back to the present and Emma’s now concerned brow. 

“Yeah okay.” He nodded leaning down so she could press her lips to both cheeks in parting. Pressing a singular kiss to her temple as well before following her into the hall to make sure she was safe. 

“Don’t stay up much later. Vegas nights may not need sleep but you look damn near exhausted.” She called from her room across catty cornered from him as she swiped the card and entered. He watched the door shut then counted to three. Knowing by then Emma would have secured both the dead bolt and the knob lock. 

He slipped back into his room, secured his own door and cleaned up their game and dinner of pasta le pepe. He then slipped into the bathroom to complete his nightly rituals. 

He hadn’t done much that day but felt a bone deep exhaustion that normally only hit him after the cases that end in firefights. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Spencer is four years old here and his perception is heavily influenced by the fact he spent all of those years in a house with Diana who did not let him outside and did not teach him about the world in the same way most parents do. Hopefully you like him here. 
> 
> Trigger warning - R word mentioned in Spencer's Section.

_Think carefully before you do something because any action may have a consequence and later you can regret and maybe it can be too late_

_-Romina Noriega-_

* * *

The Manila folder that sat on the desk of David Rossi’s hotel room was ornamented by a Las Vegas child’s protective services seal. The blood red circle depicted cut out of a billowing tree with leaves that it looked just about ready to shed. Not the most comforting of thoughts when one thinks of a government agency that is devoted to the health and well being of families, one of the most common tree metaphors there is. Below the seal was their name in the same blood colored lettering. **Department of FAMILY SERVICES Clark County**. The name S. Reid was scribbled on the tab and papers stuck out of the open side.

Though intellectually the Italian man knew a file folder was an inanimate object and therefore could not judge his choices, he felt scrutinized by the recently uncovered file. His fingers itched to grab the file and read its contents. His brain was humming for answers and making some impressive arguments to lull him into opening it.

_What’s one look? If your resolve is so weak a look will sway you then you made the wrong decision. What if it was you, reaching out to Diana, asking her to care for…._

He quickly sat up on the bed and tied on his shoes. Standing he threw on a sweatshirt from his suitcase as well as an overcoat.

Afterwards he abandoned the hotel room for the restaurant and bar downstairs. He found himself a stool at the bar and bellied up. Ordering his usual scotch and allowing his eyes to focus on the silent sport center show playing on one of the many screens as well as the entry to the hotel he could see in his peripheral. Though to be honest he was barely paying enough attention to recognize that they were doing a list of some sort that accompanied many sports, deduced from the flashy countdown graphic and the fact there was at least one soccer and one basketball segment shown before his eyes were drawn away by a tired looking family of three shuffling in from the cold outdoors.

A small boy with dark hair and wide dark eyes darted around the strip taking in the bright neon lights, from his place pressed against the chest of an equally dark featured man. A woman finished the trio sporting the same dark coloring with one arm swooping around her husband's waist as she leaned her head against his free shoulder trusting him to guide them further into the hotel. Such domesticity was not a rare sight. In fact it was very common. Yet today it stung. So he ordered a few more rounds to drown out the memories he thought that he buried more than 20 years ago.

* * *

Spencer Reid was not unintelligent.

No matter what, his father screamed every time his name came up in one of his parents' fights.

Spencer Reid was not dumb.

No matter what the bad men in uniform, who broke into his room and carried him away from the safety of its four walls, whispered to each other as they tried to get him to speak.

Spencer Reid was not simple minded.

No matter what the doctor in the room with the plastic nick nacks whispered to the woman who smelt like sugary foods while both waited for him to do something with the plastic.

Spencer Reid was not a retard.No matter what Mr. Tipton yelled to his wife the first night he stayed in his emergency foster care placement. The man angered because Spencer had no interest in conversing about his day. Angered because when Spencer did speak all the languages in his head jumbled and often a combination fell out.

Spencer Reid was smart.

A fact he first believed because of the frequency that his mother whispered it to him. A fact that was now solidified as he watched from the small flap of the box handle as other people of a smaller stature, children, ran around in seemingly mindless fashions playing games that Spencer could only describe as simple minded. Then becoming upset when the rules of these ‘games’ were called into question despite the fact they were never first put into place.

Spencer Reid was a scientist.

And if playing mindless games and banking incoherently about his day was what all of the new adults he met expected him to do, then he would study the behavior. Like a scientist, he would observe, document, and then only when ready test his theories by engaging in short trials.

And while he observed he would stay in his box. Where it was nice and dark and reminded him of the closet his mother placed him in when the bad men came.

It was also small and generally went undetected by the others around him making it the perfect place for him to make his observations without contaminating the samples. It also gave him a whole lot of warning when people approached. He saw everything from his box. And the people he observed didn’t seem to see much.

Spencer Reid was weird.

The girl with red pigtails told him as well as all of the other children who managed to take enough in of their surroundings to realize Spencer was around. In a small water logged notebook he had liberated from the driveway after the boy with the red dots of his face forgot to ‘close his goddamn water, really Hugh’ he kept his observations. Using a blue pen taken from the breakfast table after the morning crossword to scribble down notes only he understood. He also took mental photos using an empty Polaroid camera he had found in the garage the same time as he found his box.

After three days at his first placement and a week at the group home he had some good observations. He had split his sample into subgroups and then taken down the schedule of each subgroup, when they woke, what they wore, how long they disappeared in the yellow box on wheels for. How much they wined about things when they returned.

About how they spoke and the length of their word choices and phrases. About what they wore and the functionality of the clothing (sneakers vs flip flops, jackets vs coats) but still he did not feel confident putting any of his theories into practice.

Then he saw David Rossi, a man he knew from the few books in his mothers room that were not leather backed or written in old English. His mother said that he was a behavior scientist, when Spencer has asked, and Spencer was currently a scientist observing behavior so the sighting of someone who could help him was enough to pull him away from his observations. So he followed him. He heard the man as he denounced Spencer’s mother and abandoned Spencer all with in a five minute meeting. Spencer left before the man did making his way outside tears streaming down hollowed cheeks.

_Neanderthal!_

His brain yelled in a voice that sounded a lot like his mother yelling at his father about her doctors and their orders.

David Rossi was a neanderthal and if there is one thing Spencer knew above all else. It was that….

Spencer Reid did not want or need David Rossi either.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - this is not a case fic but there will be a lot of cases (episodes) used to push along plot. However I am using some Dr Who coined wibbly wobbly timey wimey adjusting cases as needed they won’t be super fleshed out unless they are dramatically changed. So I will reference the episode number at the end of the chapter when cases are involved because it won’t be chronological. Also in this story Rossi returns after Boston insistent and this takes place before Frank so Gideon is till on the team. Mostly because I wish their dynamic was explored more on the show.

* * *

“By choice, we have become a family, first in our hearts, and finally in breath and being. Great expectations are good; great experiences are better.”

-Richard Fischer-

* * *

David Rossi puts off reading the file or visiting the kid for three days. Coming up with flimsy mental excuses that he never has to use because Emma doesn’t ask as they go through the motions. 

Meetings with local police to ID her body and signing off on transport paperwork. Conversations with funeral directors and attorneys about next steps. Deciding on a headstone and plot, then going back to the hotel. Talking with Emma until dusk then engaging in one of the many self disruptive behaviors available to him in Vegas so he didn’t have to think about the boy in the box. 

He knows the attorney called Mrs. Jacobs and told her about the service. He knows that Mrs. Jacobs will be bringing Spencer so that he can ‘understand’ what has happened. 

He knows. And wants nothing more than for a case to sweep him away before the funeral so he doesn’t have to see the kid. 

His silent prayers are answered the morning of the funeral when Hotchner calls him about a case. 

The case was a hostage situation in Texas on a train. The unit being called in because of a very specific portion of the unsubs behavior. Tardive dyskinesia or involuntary facial movements caused by long time exposure to psychiatric drugs. 

The case is the recipe for a perfect storm. Rossi was too late for initial contact so Hotch chose Gideon as their negotiator. Not a bad decision under best circumstances but, with his current change in behavior after Boston and with Elle currently on the train as a hostage, these were not the best conditions. 

A fact further identified by the fact that when Dave did arrive the team was prepping a still green local officer to infiltrate the train to perform a magic trick the kid was fumbling through. He only narrowly bit back his protest as the kid entered the train, biting back the I told you so when the unsub wouldn’t let the kid leave was harder. 

In the end there was a dead Doctor Briar, a dead local officer, and an injured psychiatrist but the hostages were safe and that was about as good of an outcome they were going to get. After shutting down the base the team was jet bound. Hotch, Morgan, JJ and Elle all piled into one vehicle. 

Leaving Jason to ride with Dave like old times. Though the reasons were more personal than professional. Dave felt the need to check on Jason, Jason felt the need to check on Dave. Because liking the team, trusting them in the field, knowing that they were good agents and good kids, was one thing. Opening up to them was another. 

Hell, the two older agents barely wanted to open up to each other. Blame their lack of healthy coping mechanisms on repeated trauma, archaic social rules, or maybe the fact that both of them neither of them particularly liked looking weak. 

In fact they probably wouldn’t have leaned on each other if not for the fact their proximity in their youth made it so they were there to see the immediate fall out. As well as the fact that, despite new _team profiling_ rules Rossi and Jason were old hats at profiling each other and neither found it as taboo as their younger agents. Profiling meant that they were making the most informed decisions about unsubs, and who was confronting them. 

It also meant that when one man was deteriorating the other was able to step up and tell him straight. Was able to force cooperation until the case was done, then to drive the struggling agent to their safe place of choice. For Jason it was a section of woods where he could scream to the gods. For Rossi it was a chapel where he could stare at the pulpit for hours silently. 

“Going back to Vegas?” Jason asked after a few minutes of silence. 

_Why would I?_ Is what Rossi wants to say. _I already abandoned Spencer why return._ But then Rossi is reminded that his friend doesn’t know that part of that estate was a four year old kid. 

He wonders if he should tell him. Air out his concerns to someone who is less biased than Emma. Someone who might give validity to the voice in his head telling him to return to the kid. To go back and do the ‘right thing’, even though it isn’t. 

David Rossi isn’t a parent. 

Spencer Reid deserves a parent. 

And he is not about to allow his own guilt to take away Spencer’s chance at a normal life.

After landing in Quantico he finishes out the case in the office. The younger agents are only partially working, spending more time just being with each other in a way that makes him stop short as he goes to leave. 

Though neither of the other agents on the catwalk seem to notice JJ, Penelope, Morgan, and Elle have forged something more than friendship in the bulpin. 

Before making his way to the elevator he stops by Elle’s desk to make sure she is good. She nods and tells him that it’s ‘part of the job’. It shouldn’t be, Rossi wants to tell her, wants to tell all of them because right now he is watching them compartmentalize a traumatic experience and he wants to tell them to stop.

He wants this group of agents to be better. Better than Jason who is one bad case away from unraveling completely and destroying himself and possibly his team in the process. Better than Hotch who is so worried about keeping everyone safe that he would rather watch the family he built from the window of his office than actually enjoy the family for himself. Better than Max and Cooper, Garret, or even Cole. Better than himself. Because he has watched this job destroy person after person, watched it rip apart family after family, and knows though it hasn’t destroyed his faith in humanity as a whole it has destroyed his faith in his own happy ending. 

As he eats a cookie that Garcia somehow managed to prepare in the Quantico kitchen he wonders if this new want to lecture the kids in the bulpin is for their benefit or his own. If he wants to lay into them about healthy coping mechanisms and making ties to the world at large has anything to do with them and the train or if it has everything to do with him. 

How many days does he try to shrug off his own guilt by wondering why Max hadn’t leveled himself and Jason with a similar lecture 25 years ago. Because in his mind 30 year old Rossi would have taken that lecture to heart and changed his behavior. Been home more, traveled less, and maybe just maybe had been there that night, able to drive Carolyn to the store for her craving for her craving of the moment so she didn’t have to go alone. Or better yet go for her so she didn’t even have to leave the house. 

“You okay Super Agent?” Garcia asks and he pulls her eyes to her. 

“Long day.” He admits after a quick scan tells him that Garcia isn’t the only kid in the bulpin with her face pinched in concern. 

“Don’t stay too late. There’s a world outside of here you know.” He says as he continues his way to the elevator. Hoping a few well placed throw away comments is enough to save these kids from the mistakes that he made. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode Referenced: 1:09 Derailed


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Rossi and Spencer will interact soon. But in the meantime enjoy some Spencer and Rossi while they are apart. Also once again not a case fic though this particular case will be featured in a few upcoming chapters as well. And also we ignore canon timeline here quite a bit. As evidenced by the fact we jumped from a case in season 1 to one in season 4
> 
> Trigger warning - bullying

"One’s destination is never a place,

But a new way of seeing things.”

-Henry Miller-

* * *

Six weeks.

For six weeks Rossi threw himself into his job at the bureau. Thee himself consulted each case and even the young adults he worked with. He ran himself to exhaustion then tried to fall asleep and ignore the children services file that still sat in the suitcase that functioned as a go bag in his trunk because he could not bring himself to unpack it.

Six weeks.

Six weeks of dialing the number Mrs. Jacobs had given each night after either Diana’s phantom face or the unfocused face of a child that somehow despite not having any features in the dreams was decidedly Spencer.

Six weeks.

Six weeks of hanging up and tossing the phone away after the first ring and turning to his latest rough draft.

Six weeks in limbo.

Not willing to let the call connect but also not willing to return to the world of his dreams.

Six weeks in limbo.

And he had fooled himself into believing that this new normal could last. That he was okay with his decision and that he didn’t have any regrets.

That is not true.

Which is why the moment JJ said there next case was in regards to a second five year old boy abducted from his home in Vegas Rossi felt the proverbial rug fall from under his feet.

What are the odds that the first case involving children since this all happened would be in Carson city. He schooled his expression and focused on the file and the images when he felt the heat of Jason’s gaze.

Looking at the images was probably not his best bet. Because with out ever seeing Spencer in person or on film David Rossi couldn’t help but see images of him in the photos of Ethan Hayes and Michael Bridges.

Ethan Hays was a dark haired dark eyed boy like William who was lengthy and seemed a bit awkward in terms of limb coordination of the image of him wobbling on his red racer bike was anything to go on. Like Diana, his brain supplied.

The fact the boys eyes were a different shape, his hair was curled, and other noticeable things that separated him from a mental image of Spencer was lost on Rossi.

Michael Bridges was worse. Because if David squinted just a bit he could replace the photo of Michael smiling on the top of a playground structure with Diana up in a tree at the park where they grew up.

He nearly lost himself to the images but was controlled enough to notice the key information of the briefing:drop site, state of the body, geographic information. Before the call came: wheels up in 20.

It was a twelve minute drive from the bureau to the hanger and Dave’s go bag was in his car. So he left the briefing and went straight for the elevators.

Then to the car and the plane all the while holding on to a crumbling conviction that he was content with his decision.

* * *

In truth the past six weeks were not kind to Spencer Reid. Mostly due to the fact that after his mother service his powers of invisibility stopped working and children on the whole are cruel creatures to that which is different.

It had started when the older boys came across his box one afternoon and decided to start kicking it. Spencer had curled up on his side tucking his notebook and pen under his shirt for extra protection. But his mind was still subjected to their verbal assaults. He tried to recite something making his voice louder than theirs but it did not work. By the time the boys got called into dinner Spencer was physically fine but had tears streaming down hollowed cheeks. He didn’t go in for dinner, instead staying in his broken box all night long even through the frigid rain.

After that he needed a new box. Which at that point had the others rinsing and repeating the same behavior not always talented enough not to have one or two kicks land on Spencer’s person. It happens four times in total before Spencer was dumb enough to hold out a hand and beg one of the boys to stop. Which only resulted in the kick hitting his hand and cracking the small fragile bone inside.

This time the adults do intervene if only to shoo the kids away and berate Spencer for holding out his hand and getting hurt. The next thing Spencer knew he was placed in a car and taken away from the house by a cursing woman dressed in pink cable knit. He did not speak to her. He didn’t like the ride, the car moving made him feel sick and the trees passing didn’t help. But he didn’t talk to her. The woman talked though. Much like the other people he met since the men took him, the woman nurse and male doctor who came to see Spencer both found the child odd. And spent the entire appointment either talking around him or down to him.

Mrs. Jacobs was quick to tell every adult who entered the room that Spencer was simple.

_Simple: Adjective_

_Meaning easily understood or done; presenting no difficulty. Or used to emphasize the fundamental and straightforward nature of something._

But that didn’t seem like a word used to describe the way Mrs. Jacobs said simple, being straightforward seems to Spencer to be a positive trait. And clear in the distance dripping from her crimson lips Mrs Jacobs did not think of Spencer in a positive way.

The other five definitions that Spencer could recall from his mothers English dictionary were similar in their issues. They all seemed positive, and Mrs Jacobs was not. So giving up on social or English definitions he turned to the sciences.

The definition as used in Botany was too specific to be applied. But the mathematics one seemed to fit.

_Denoting a group that has no proper normal subgroup._

Which explained exactly why the adults found him lacking and children found him weird. He was from a different subgroup. Like a foreign explorer of old on way to discover a new culture before returning home to report.

A scientific explorer tasked with the behavior of the people around him. Homosapians. That felt right somehow.

Maybe he was special after all. And if he was then after he finished his experiment he could go back.

He hoped his experiment finished soon.

He did not like the world that he was in now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode referenced - Instincts 4.06


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - sorry this took so long to upload. For what ever reason I couldn't seem to get either section worded right. Still not super happy but it is finished for you to read. The catalyst for the coming together of team and baby Reid is next chapter.

* * *

"A friend is one who overlooks your broken fence and admires the flowers in your garden.”

-Unknown-

* * *

The rule that the BAU teams had about not profiling each other was a new concept. Something that came about when it became clear those drawn to the profession where more broken than those who started it. Jason Gideon never really bought into it, and spent the majority of plane rides and office down time profiling the people he worked with, working out the muscle the same way he did in his early thirties when the unit was still the BSU and was only as big as an abandoned bunker and a buick.

Profiling the team was easy enough. He took in things like microexpression, body language, vocal tone, cadence, and pitch, he even took in phrasing. Then he cross referenced it with previous behavior and other things he knew about the team. From there he drew hypotheses that he tested until he could find conclusions. And all of this he did with out his team being the wiser. Well, except Dave, Jason is pretty sure that Dave knows exactly how he spends his ‘down time’ on cases. Also he was pretty sure Hotch had at least some idea that Gideon was profiling at least half of the time.

And despite the ‘rule’ Jason had always been willing to bet that the majority of his colleagues did similar. Maybe not consciously or with ill intent but it was hard when in cases to shut down the part of your brain that searches for idiosyncrasies in human behavior. Which made it a norm more so than a hard and fast rule.

But he believed his theory about inter-team profiling and its place as a norm or a rule was doomed to never be fully tested. Then the past month and a half transpired.

And in that month Jason watched as the team who promised not to ‘profile’ each other pulled out every single trick they had to determine what had caused David Rossi’s most recent behavior change. The theories went from mid-life crisis to major depressive episode. Which in short had all of them walking on egg shells and looking to Aaron and himself to address the erratic behavior before it affected a case.

All of the teams guesses were good guesses in theory considering that no one on the team had witnessed Rossi after his most significant trauma and as such would have no reference for how Rossi acted right before he lost the plot so to speak.

Jason himself did not believe his colleague to be in that dire of a situation until two weeks ago when Max Ryan burst back into the BAU and asked Jason what was wrong with Rossi. From that moment Jason has watched and as he fields yet another pointed eyebrow raise from Hotch he realizes that he has to address his old friend. Before ghosts from a lifetime time ago take yet another pound of flesh.

* * *

Research

That is what Spencer needed.

Research

A base knowledge of those like him traveling to earth and observing humanity.

Research.

A timeline.

How long was he going to be here? How much was he supposed to accomplish?

Parameters

What was his purpose here, what was his goal. This is what ran through the young Spencer Reid’s head for three days after his appifanny at the doctors office.

It would have continued for a long time if not for fate.

That is if you can call a ruptured appendix fate.

Either way Mrs. Hayes suddenly falling ill and her son Ethan having to be placed in emergency foster care, as there were no living relatives, changed everything for Spencer.

For one Ethan was nice and talked to Spencer kindly. Not at all like red pigtail girl. Ethan also had books. Sure there were more pictures than words but they were books. And he let Spencer read them while he left on the yellow vehicle.

But the best part of Ethan was what he showed Spencer, on the first and only Saturday that he was at the home Ethan took Spencer to the library.

A huge building bursting with books.

“Hey kid,” Ethan said as they entered, pausing his stride to turn around and hover around his new friend. His left hand itches to reach out but he wasn’t all too sure how that would be received. The kid was decidedly skittish around everyone and everything.

Big brown eyes popped up to meet Ethan’s gaze, they were filled with fat tears that had yet to escape.

“We don’t have to do this today. We can go back or find a park.” Ethan said, trying to starve off a meltdown. In the five days he had been at the group home he had yet to see Spencer emote but had witnessed some gnarly melt downs from other kids and did not want to have to deal with a kicking screaming and crying kid in such a public place.

Yet, surprising as all of his other abnormalities, Spencer took a few deep breaths, closed his eyes and batted back the tears.

“Mom would have wanted to have a first hand experience this,” The boy said in his soft broken whisper.

Which was heartbreaking.

Ethan refocused his gaze and waited until he was sure that he could control his own emotions. Firstly because he hated that a four year old sounded so broken, secondly that with each interaction it became more and more clear how much he had missed out on a ‘normal’ childhood, and lastly that standing here the only thing on the boys mind was his mother.

“She is experiencing this, through you.” Ethan tried to placiate.

“Actually the theory of omnipresence following death is mostly conjecture….” Spencer began to ramble and Ethan smiled and led the boy deeper into the library. Both boys now smiling as facts filled the air between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ethan Hayes is Spencer’s Cannon companion from 2x18 Jones.


End file.
